


there's a pain in my heart and it won't go away

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dancing, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:36:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28986483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: Charles laughs and tells people he doesn’t remember when he was last fully sober. He doesn’t say that he has to stumble to the bathroom to vomit most mornings, trying to avoid his reflection. He doesn’t care about seeing his face but he doesn’t want to see his grief marks, seeing them hurts deeper every time.Charles has three grief marks and wants to prevent whoever turns out to be his soulmate from ever having to feel what he feels. But his soulmate has different ideas.
Relationships: Kimi Räikkönen/Sebastian Vettel, Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc
Comments: 13
Kudos: 85





	there's a pain in my heart and it won't go away

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from 'Here With Me' by Marshmello.

Charles laughs and tells people he doesn’t remember when he was last fully sober, that he wakes up hugging a vodka bottle and lamenting the lack of mixers. He doesn’t say that he has to stumble to the bathroom to vomit most mornings, trying to avoid his reflection. He doesn’t care about seeing his face but he doesn’t want to see his grief marks, seeing them hurts deeper every time.

Not every death in the family gives a person a grief mark. But Charles has three – two for the dead, his father and his godfather, thick black scars crawling up his neck and collarbone because they need to be seen. Charles resists that. He drinks every day to help his resistance and to stop whoever his unfortunate Intended is from one day feeling his pain.

Everything has a balance, his father explained that, there are grief marks and there will be soul marks, when the right people meet. There is an Intended for everyone. Everyone should have both. Charles hopes he never meets his soulmate, he doesn’t wish his pain on anyone.

He doesn’t have dreams of the perfect person out there for him. He has ugly nights, dreaming of who he’s lost, in life and death. Sebastian won’t speak to him now, his mentor and second father, because Charles spat drunken venom at him too many times when his grief sharply rose to the surface.

“Why couldn’t it have been you?”

Kimi nearly punched Charles, Charles was vaguely sickly hoping for it. But Sebastian made sure his husband didn’t and walked away, understanding tears in his eyes. And he stayed away. Charles doesn’t blame him, he **misses** him, it’s like he’s lost all his homes now. But it’s better this way. Charles hurts everyone meaningful. His third grief mark, after all, is for Sebastian.

There are always people to talk to and laugh at his jokes and drink the rounds he buys. He’s Charles Leclerc, from one of the first families of Monaco. He’s always in the papers and on TV, his mother doesn’t speak to the media anymore, neither do Charles’s brothers. They refuse to stop speaking to Charles though. He won’t see them, phone calls only. It’s bad enough hearing their despair at who he is and what he’s done, and their pain is always so fresh. His mother’s grief mark for her husband mars her left cheek, it meets her soul mark in such a beautiful way. Charles has to drink a lot whenever he thinks about it.

He keeps busy. When he isn’t drinking or going to bars or clubs or restaurants or lying on the beach with a beer in his hand, he goes where his father did, in whatever state he’s in, endlessly following a ghost. His father was patron for sports and the arts, he lived his belief in balance. Charles is going to a prestigious dance company’s show tonight.

“You’ll be no help like this,” Kevin points out helpfully, when Charles is sprawled back on the bed that evening, crumpled, blurred and hungover.

Charles shakes his head, unbuttoning and then buttoning his crisp white shirt. “I do my duties, Kev.”

Kevin looks unimpressed but he does what he’s paid for - letting Charles get on with his life. Charles knows what he’s doing. He knows how to drink and not ruin an evening important to his father. He learned that very quickly, despite what the papers say he never threw up in the orchestra pit. Outside the stage door, yes, but never inside the theatre.

He finishes his beer and walks out to the car, without needing Kevin’s help. He slides sunglasses on and watches the city slip by as Kevin drives. His father loved nights like this. Charles presses trembling fingers to the grief mark that flares up painfully. This is why he’s here. Sebastian’s come a few times with him, another grief mark flares. Charles closes his eyes until the journey ends.

The theatre is full and busy and after a quick stop at the bar, Charles slips into his premier balcony seat, Kevin taking the seat beside him like he’s just one of the crowd. His soul mark is striking under the theatre’s dimming lights, it matches Nico’s so perfectly. Charles’s fingers flex around his beer. He only removes his sunglasses when the lights go down completely.

The show is mostly modern oddly-creative stuff, the kind that Charles’s father would discuss afterwards for days. What could it all mean? Charles drinks his beer. Then there’s a solo dance, near the end of the show and everything else stops mattering.

The dancer is lean and muscled, he’s strong. He wears a black silky bodysuit that’s somehow fitting and voluminous, it’s moulded to his body from head to toe and there’s a billowing body cape flaring out behind him when he jumps. His face is elegantly shaped, with a beautiful tranquil pair of eyes which are highlighted by the gold tones of his striking make-up. Just looking at him makes Charles feel as though all the air has left his body.

He can’t breath, no, he can, he has to see more of this dancer. Charles’s gaze is riveted, he’s leaning forward, desperate not to miss a moment of movement as something warm and joyful swells in him. The dancer moves precisely but with emotion, his face is expressive as he throws himself around the stage in beautiful, sometimes heart-wrenching, patterns. When the dancer finishes, applause bursting loudly over him, he smiles brightly, pleased and happy, and bows. Then his eyes sweep the audience, looking for something.

And Charles realises, he hadn’t even thought to wonder if the dancer felt what he did. His breath is gone all over again because the dancer, his **soulmate** , felt who they are and will be to each other and danced without any visible mistake. He’s amazing, and perfect, and he’s Charles’s.

Charles grabs Kevin’s arm tightly, hissing, “Programme! Who was that?”

Kevin looks unsurprised, checking the pages, “Pierre Gasly.”

Pierre. Charles breathes the name into the dark. He doesn’t remember any of the rest of the show. Normally, he’d go out for drinks with some of the dancers and fellow sponsors, maybe he’d fuck one or two after. This is why Kevin is unsurprised. But Charles isn’t shopping tonight.

He can’t think about anything but seeing Pierre. As soon as the lights go up after the curtain call, Charles is on his feet, grabbing his coat, not bothering with his sunglasses. He pushes past Kevin.

“We have to go **now.** ”

He doesn’t care who he shoves past and it’s when they’re halfway down the stairs that he throws over his shoulder, “He’s my Intended.”

If Kevin is anything but still unsurprised, it doesn't change his footsteps as he sticks with Charles, Charles who hasn’t stopped feeling anything but warmth and joy since seeing Pierre. Why has he pushed against reaching this moment for so long? It feels incredible, it’s perfection.

And then it hits him when the usher who passes him on the stairs gives him a knowing flirty look. Charles has three grief marks, one of his own making. All of his pain and self-hatred is going to pour through a bond and hurt Pierre so much. Pierre will be disgusted and rightly want nothing to do with him. This is what Charles has been trying to escape, for both their sakes. He will get another grief mark, he’s sure.

His steps falter but they’re down to the foyer now and then the only way is out the front doors, the crowds spilling that way too big a tide to swim against. Charles feels pain as well as the warmth that he knows is love, pain that tells him to move now and have a drink to blot it all out and not hurt Pierre. His head is killing him now and his neck and collarbone are in agony. He has to squeeze his eyes shut against it all.

“ _Mon amour._ ”

There’s gentle fingers touching him, warm happiness floods through him again, and Charles opens his eyes, reaches, lurches really. He thinks he gasps. There’s soft breath against his face and conversation around him that doesn’t matter and he doesn’t know how he’s moved - led? Staggered? When his eyes next properly focus, he’s in a dressing room. It’s a large one with lots of mirrors and tables and chairs, a shared one obviously. And there’s Pierre, sitting beside him on a small sofa, the two of them pressed together, Pierre’s arm around him.

Charles finds his head is resting against Pierre’s shoulder and he stares up with wide adoring eyes at his Intended. Pierre is wearing soft worn clothes and his face is clean of make-up, he’s as beautiful as Charles remembers. Pierre is stroking Charles’s arm and his face is gently lit with love.

“You are here with me?”

Charles nods and then his expression breaks a little, “I’m sorry.”

Pierre frowns, “Why?”

Charles lifts a hand to where a bit of his grief marks are displayed, pain rolling through him as he thinks of getting another, “I have three, I can’t give that to you.”

Pierre’s face becomes all compassion and he actually leans down to press a kiss to Charles’s forehead. It makes Charles tremble and push closer. How can Pierre do that when he knows?

“I have one too,” Pierre tells him quietly, with grieving eyes. “It is on my back, for my best friend.”

Charles makes a pained noise, his hand rising to touch Pierre’s face. Pierre closes his eyes briefly and nuzzles into Charles’s touch. Oh, there is so much love between them already. Charles’s eyes are full of tears, and it hurts. It’s too much, he can’t add to Pierre’s pain.

But Pierre holds him and wipes away tears as Charles finds himself crying, murmuring apologies as Pierre wraps both arms around him and rocks him gently. Pierre smells like greasepaint and moisturiser. His hair is so soft against Charles’s skin. He deserves far better than Charles.

“You should not be sorry for us,” Pierre tells him quietly when Charles’s tears seem to stop. “It is a happy day.”

“I keep trying to lose the pain,” Charles says, his voice raw, confessing so easily to Pierre what he never tells anyone. “Every day. And I don’t want you to feel it.”

Pierre kisses his forehead again, the touch lingering this time. “It is too much alone, _mon coeur_. Please, of course I am the one who should feel it. Your pain is my pain."

He kisses Charles on the mouth then and Charles clings to him, thoughts unspooling, wild with heady disbelief and want. Pierre wants this, him. He wants to share Charles's pain. Charles's skin tingles near his grief marks, telling him that a bond is starting to take.

He kisses Pierre back, his previous convictions about saving his soulmate from himself fading in the face of this love and Pierre's certainty. It's a rock Charles clings to.

They can’t stay in the theatre though, even though Charles wants to pay management to let them because he doesn’t want to move.

“I could do it, I’m Charles-.”

“Leclerc, I know,” Pierre chimes in with gentle amusement. “Your name is up in the foyer.”

One of Charles’s grief marks throbs and Pierre keeps him close.

“My father,” Charles murmurs, burying his face against Pierre’s neck. “His name.”

“Your name is there too, _bébé_ ,” Pierre says softly, kissing the top of his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to make it worse.”

“You don’t,” Charles says immediately.

It hurts, of course, it always will. But he has Pierre now, it makes the coping so much better. It is a total revelation. Charles doesn’t want to immediately reach for a beer. He always wants to reach for a beer.

Pierre stands and helps Charles up, staying pressed against his side, “You don’t either.”

Charles feels so warm, he cannot stop smiling as they make their way outside, to where Kevin is waiting with the car right in front of the theatre. Charles nods his thanks and Pierre does the same, Kevin wears a small smile. It usually means he’s right about something when he thinks Charles isn’t. Charles doesn’t care today.

In the back of the car, hands clasped and sides pressed together, Charles realises what he’s doing.

“Am I kidnapping you?” he asks against Pierre’s ear, he loves how Pierre shivers and presses closer. 

“I hope so. I will pack up my room tomorrow.”

Just like that, Pierre will come and live with him? Pierre shifts a little to look at Charles with careful eyes.

“Is that too much?”

Charles shakes his head immediately, that warm happiness filling so much of him now. He never wants to be without it again. He's absolutely sure he wouldn't survive the loss.

“I don’t want you to go.”

Pierre presses a kiss to Charles’s cheek, then such a gentle one to his lips, “I won’t.”

Charles trembles and kisses Pierre back just as gently. He doesn't know if he's ever kissed so gently before. They stay close, sharing breath, until the end of the journey. Charles could sleep like this. Still, he isn’t so out of it that he doesn’t notice Pierre’s wide eyes when he sees Charles’s house. Charles wraps an arm around his waist.

“Plenty of room for both of us.”

Pierre chuckles and follows Charles up to his room. They curl up together on the bed, unmade this morning but perfect now thanks to the staff. Pierre texts his housemates and Charles decides to message his family. They should know, but he doesn’t say he’ll bring Pierre to see them. He may feel warmer, but there’s still pain clutching at so much of him.

He and Pierre talk most of the night. They talk about Charles’s Dad and godfather and Sebastian, Charles cries again but he keeps talking. Pierre needs to know the depth and importance of what marks Charles’s skin. Pierre holds him, whispering endearments. He presses butterfly-kisses near to Charles’s grief marks and at Charles's nod, covers the marks themselves with his mouth. It feels so intimate. Charles arches into Pierre’s touch.

Pierre talks about his best friend. He peels off his sweater and shirt and reveals the grief mark on his back. He cries too, it’s only been a couple of years for him but Charles is sure this will always make Pierre cry. He traces the mark with his fingertips and kisses it reverently.

They sleep tangled up together. It’s deeply restful. Charles still isn’t sure it’s not a dream when he wakes up but Pierre is right there and Charles kisses him, firmer now. It feels like a fairytale when Pierre’s mouth moves under his and his eyes open.

“You’re still here,” Charles states, voice full of disbelief and love.

Pierre slips fingers through Charles’s hair, his expression so tender, “We both are.”

It’s not long before Kevin knocks on the door and walks in. Pierre greets him with familiarity and Charles wonders how that happened.

“You need to wash and not wear last night’s clothes,” Kevin tells Charles pointedly.

Charles wrinkles his nose, he’s used to starting the day in those kind of clothes. Still, he kisses high up on Pierre’s cheekbone as Kevin leaves, warning that he’ll have their breakfast cleared if they’re not down in half an hour. 

“He’ll do it, probably by eating it all himself,” Charles mutters.

Pierre laughs, “Maybe you should give him a pay rise, to save your breakfast.”

Charles has a large en-suite bathroom which includes a shower big enough for at least five people, Charles has tested its perimeters. Pierre invites Charles to join him and grabs the shower foam once they’re under the divine water pressure. It’s not an invitation for anything else. It's wonderful.

They kiss, laughing at the water that flows between their lips. Charles offers to wash Pierre’s hair, loving how easily Pierre trusts him not to get apple-scented shampoo in his eyes. Charles has never done this with anyone before.

Pierre takes over then and Charles closes his eyes, Pierre’s fingers feel amazing massaging his scalp.

Pierre kisses his neck, “ _Mon amour_.”

His fingers trace a mark that wasn’t there the night before. Charles turns to take a proper not-distracted look at Pierre’s back, there’s a red mark there now too, a soul mark, beside Pierre’s grief mark. They’re joined together. Charles starts to trace it with his mouth.

They're distracted until Kevin calls through from the hall that breakfast will be gone in ten minutes. It’s effective. Charles offers Pierre the use of his wardrobes, Pierre smiles in bemusement at the amount of choice he has.

“I have to get used to this?”

Charles nods, kissing Pierre’s shoulder and neck, “Yes, I will be spoiling you every day.”

Pierre shakes his head, glancing around the room, then back at Charles’s wardrobes. But he doesn’t look uncomfortable or like he wants to be anywhere else. Charles holds him tight.

Pierre eats breakfast wearing an old pair of Charles’s jeans (Charles maybe wore them once) and a white t-shirt that makes him look positively angelic. There’s plenty of hot breakfast, despite the dent Kevin has made in it. Charles and Pierre sit with their feet tangled together. Kevin pours himself a coffee and raises it slightly towards them, wearing a small pleased smile that Charles appreciates.

“Congratulations.”

Charles grins and raises his coffee back. Kevin doesn’t ask when Charles is taking Pierre to visit his Mum. There’s many reasons why Kevin still has a job and it’s not just because he’s excellent at tracking Charles down no matter where he spends the night.

He helps them pack up Pierre’s room and frightens one of Pierre’s housemates into dropping his claims that a set of saucepans are his, not Pierre’s. Another housemate watches with jealous flinty eyes.

“Guess we won’t be seeing **you** on stage anymore.”

Pierre pauses and glances at Charles, because they haven’t talked about this. But Charles shakes his head.

“Of course you will, where else is Pierre going to dance?”

They talk about it on the way home, “You must keep dancing if you want to, you’re amazing.”

Pierre looks at him carefully, then kisses him with so much love, Charles gasps against his mouth.

“Thank you, thank you,” Pierre murmurs, like he’s been told before that he won’t dance if his soulmate is against it.

Charles kisses him back, hating everyone who’s made Pierre doubt, “I like watching you dance.”

Pierre’s next look is the kind that Charles hasn’t seen from him before and it goes straight to Charles’s dick.

“I will give you a private performance.”

Charles tugs him into a hungry kiss. They can do car sex another time though, Charles doesn’t want their first time interrupted. At home, Pierre holds him and fucks him slow and deep to start, eyes fixed on Charles’s face. His rhythm speeds up eventually and Charles feels pleasure that soars into a sort of white-hot of happiness, he shakes until he can’t move. Pierre collapses on top of him, kissing him breathlessly. They’re both sweating and they can do this all day if they want.

“I’m fucking you later,” Charles declares.

Pierre’s eyes go hot again. “Definitely.”

Charles thinks, he hasn’t drunk any alcohol since the night before. He doesn’t want to. He will, he knows, he hopes Pierre won’t mind. He doesn’t want to blot this out though.

He doesn’t know what to do, he only knows he wants to do it all with Pierre. They could go sailing or driving, or lie out on the beach together. Kevin’s already mentioned they’ll need to put out an official statement, that Nico is working on it already and that both Charles and Pierre will need to okay it. Pierre has called the theatre and his boss to let them know, adding that he’ll still be dancing with the company. His programme bio is being edited.

They end up at the beach, Charles makes sure Pierre doesn’t burn. It’s not a good look for a performer. He’s there when Pierre dances that night, Charles watches as breathlessly as he did the night before. He still can’t take his eyes off Pierre, his love rising for his soul mate as Pierre moves so beautifully. He’s sure Pierre’s smile after is just for him.

He waits at the stage door with an armful of calla lilies. Pierre’s whole face lights up, he kisses Charles under the light there, cradling the flowers between them, their perfume scenting everything.

Calla lilies mean rebirth.

Pierre’s the one he talks to about how much he misses Sebastian; how he misses having lunch with him and spending weekends at his place, driving with him up through the hills. Pierre’s the one by Charles’s side, holding his hand, when Charles, full of shaking trepidation, goes to see Sebastian. Kimi glares but Sebastian takes one look at the young couple and pulls Charles into his arms.

“Charlie-.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Seb.”

Charles’s voice trembles with tears and he tugs Pierre in to introduce him. Sebastian can’t take his eyes off Charles’s grief and soul marks though. Charles swallows and feels his neck tingling.

“Why do you have three griefs now?” asks Sebastian slowly.

“He won’t for much longer,” Pierre answers for Charles.

Sebastian pulls Charles into another tight hug and then hugs Pierre too, “Welcome to the family.”

Pierre hugs him back easily. Tears trickle down Charles’s face and he lifts Pierre’s hand to kiss it. The grief marks still hurt a lot but he can deal with them now he has a soul mark too and a soulmate, now that he's come home.

**Author's Note:**

> If it's Charles, there's always angst. But there's always Pierre too.  
> All kudos and comments encouraged, please feed the author :)


End file.
